


Don't Give Us None of Your Aggravation

by bagheerita



Series: Collected Tales of the OOOT-verse [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of character death, Anal Sex, Comfort, Condoms, Dealing with post trauma stress, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Language, M/M, Porn With Mild Plot, Switching, happy to be alive sex, kind of schmoopy, saying I love you with security protocols
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 16:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15689511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagheerita/pseuds/bagheerita
Summary: Clint and Phil take some time to reconnect.





	Don't Give Us None of Your Aggravation

**Author's Note:**

> **Series note:** The plot (or maybe background and setting would be a better descriptor) does include spoilers for some events of "One and One and One Is Three," but if you squint and don't care you'll probably miss it. For previous relationship backstory please see chapter 3 of "You Know You Got to Go Through Hell Before You Get to Heaven." (Also a small reminder that no  Agents of SHIELD after my altered season 1 is canon to my universe.)

**Location:** Universe MTYTYA, Designation: Prime (Alpha)  
New York City  
Avengers Tower  
_(seven minutes post anomaly resolution)_

Clint pulls Phil into his room at the Tower and shuts the door behind them. He's got Phil pressed up against the door a heartbeat later, their lips smashed together, and Phil's mouth opens to him, seeking and frantic.

And then Phil grabs his left arm, just above the elbow, catching the edge of the bandage there, and his fingers are hard and desperate in their hold. Clint flinches and grunts.

Phil stops kissing him and immediately goes into overprotective supervisor mode. "Let me see it."

There's no use fighting him on this, so Clint sighs and goes to the kitchen, flipping on the light and sinking into a chair. He sets his bow and quiver on the table and takes off his shirt to have a look at his upper arm himself.

Phil walks in behind him, and he's already found his spare pair of glasses in the drawer at the end of the kitchen closest to the door. Something in Clint's heart stutters to remember that brief handful of minutes he'd felt he could live in the Tower, with this new team, before he ran back to SHIELD to hide from everything; that time when he'd put the glasses there thinking Phil was dead but unable to have his things not taking up Clint's space. And now here is Phil, real and alive and taking up Clint's space.

Phil pulls a chair over to sit facing Clint, and Clint can't help but reach for him and pull him into a kiss. This one's a bit more tender, more like he'd kissed Phil back when he first discovered Phil wasn't dead, just a touch to prove to both of them that they're both really there. But he pulls back quickly, because he wants Phil to get through with his checkup. Between Hydra, interdimensional portals, and standing next to explosions, they've either been short on time or privacy or been too injured to really explore their relationship since he found Phil again. Clint would like to get around to actually fucking before the world decides to end again.

Phil is smiling a little goofily at Clint's soft kiss, but he sobers as he pulls Clint's arm toward him, his fingers coming to rest on the neat bandage tied around Clint's upper arm.

Clint lays his fingers on the bandage, over Phil's, holding Phil's hand tightly. "She took good care of me."

"It was her job," Phil says. "She was good at it."

Clint has to lean in again and kiss him, because Jane can't do that anymore and Clint never though he would be able to, and he _can,_ and he wishes he wasn't so glad that he and Phil are both alive when someone else is dead.

Phil finally undoes the bandage with careful fingers. The wound is a burn from an alien laser rifle, just deep enough in the muscle that Clint's going to be feeling it for a few weeks. Considering everything he's been through in the past two weeks it's nothing at all; at least, before the universe decided to unravel again, his face had already healed from the face-plant he'd done into a dashboard. Clint takes the old bandage in his hand as Phil applies the ointment and rewraps a fresh bandage around his arm.

When he's done with that, Phil's fingers are tracing over the still angry looking scar lower down on Clint's arm, across the outside of his elbow. Clint leans into Phil, letting him feel Clint's weight, because a lot of people have tried to kill them lately, and they're still here. That's the important part: they're still here.

After a moment Phil stands over him, and he takes Clint's head in his hands and just holds him still while he kisses him. Clint throws his arms around Phil's waist, holding him closer, while he relaxes into the feel of Phil's masterful hands on him.

They kiss again, and Clint nudges them toward the bedroom, losing clothes on the way because he doesn't even care where they land. But when they get there, despite all of Clint's intentions, he falls dead asleep after about five more minutes of kissing.

 

 

Clint wakes to the smell of coffee. He stretches. "God, that smells amazing," he says. He's got his face smashed into a pillow, so it comes out more like, "Gathasmelfzn."

He hears Phil chuckle, and he turns over to find Phil leaning on the doorframe, holding a steaming mug, smiling at him. 

Clint just stares at him. Mostly his eyes can't stop drinking in more of Phil, and that's a more amazing drink than the coffee. But also, Phil's wearing some of Clint's sweats and only his undershirt, and seeing him that underdressed is a rare thing.

Phil blushes, partially guessing what Clint's staring at, and says, "I didn't do laundry before we decided to go reality hopping." He fingers the fabric of the sweatpants with slight disbelief. "JARVIS should have it ready by tomorrow."

Clint sprawls on his back, wearing nothing but his boxers. "So, even if the world _is_ ending today, we've got nothing to wear." He beckons Phil to come closer, and when he does Clint steals the coffee mug.

Phil laughs. "Ah, I see. You're only using me for my skills."

Clint takes a long gulp, then sets the mug on the side table and pulls Phil down into the bed beside him. "Of course, sir. And I happen to know some of your better ones." He leans over Phil, his lips tracing a line along Phil's clean-shaven chin- and Clint realizes that he needs a shave himself. He rubs his stubbled cheek against Phil's shoulder, and Phil makes a noise somewhere between protest and desire. The protest seems to be mostly for Clint's proximity to the scar that Clint can see the shadow of along the top edge of Phil's undershirt, and Clint moves to pull the shirt out of his way to press his lips to the scar itself.

Phil's hands are tense, suddenly catching Clint by the shoulder with one and cupping the back of his head with the other. Phil is staring up at Clint, wide-eyed.

Clint stills. He's not fully awake in his brain yet; he doesn't want to push too hard, but his body's not tired anymore and he _wants_ Phil, wants him as close as he can get him. He makes a soft sound of desire in his throat, but he backs off the scar and he kisses Phil's mouth, drawing him into thinking about something else. Clint slides a hand down Phil's hip and inside the sweats, and he pauses as he realizes that Phil's also wearing some of Clint's boxers. Phil blushes slightly and opens his mouth like he wants to explain, but the whole idea of Phil wearing anything other than his usual boxer briefs is blowing Clint's mind and he just says, "Fuck. God, Phil, fuck me, _please_." He's on his knees leaning over Phil, his hands tucking under Phil to either side as he tries to wrap himself all around Phil. He murmurs softly against Phil's lips, "Fuck."

Phil reaches for him, making Clint's desperation something more controlled as he guides Clint to lie over him, pressing Phil down into the bed, their lips still meeting in quick, hungry kisses. Clint's lying on top of Phil; his hand, trying to brace himself, presses on Phil's shoulder, and Clint pulls back. But Phil reaches up to cup Clint's cheek and guide his attention to Phil. "It's okay. I trust you," Phil says.

Clint gets still again, because he knows those are heavy words from Phil, especially after everything that's happened to him. "I've got you, boss," Clint murmurs back, his thumb tracing Phil's bottom lip as he leans in for another kiss.

Clint knows what he wants, and Phil's leaving it up to his discretion, so Clint decides to get the show on the road. He riffles through the bedside drawer and comes up with the bottle of lube and a condom. He moves back to straddle Phil's hips. "You okay with fucking me?" he asks, expression serious. "We can do-"

Phil shakes his head and there's a glint in his eyes as he sits up, bringing his face close enough to kiss Clint again. "Oh, I'm going to fuck you," he says with all the intense focus of a field mission, and Clint moans. Phil smirks and lays back. His hands go to the waistband of the sweatpants in preparation. "You ready to start?"

Clint slides back, so he can nuzzle his face in Phil's groin, groaning in appreciation. He can feel Phil's hands in his hair, just petting through it and not guiding or urging him on yet, and he revels in the warmth and headiness of Phil being here, being _alive_. But he doesn't take too long at it, and then he's whisking Phil's pants and boxers all the way down to his ankles and off.

"I'm kind of digging this new, relaxed look of yours," Clint murmurs, laying himself between Phil's legs. "I've never gotten you undressed that quickly."

Phil chuckles. "Is it supposed to be quick? I kind of like it when you take your time."

Clint bucks against the mattress, his cock wanting more friction, moaning again as he rests his cheek against Phil's inner thigh. Phil twitches, and Clint rubs his stubble against the sensitive skin.

Phil's hands tighten in his hair. "Stop that."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." And Clint nuzzles his way to Phil's groin, his face pressed to the thick hair. He turns his attention to Phil's cock, not fully erect yet, but that's easily solvable as Clint takes the length of it in his mouth.

He can feel Phil's heartbeat under his tongue and Clint has to pull back, turning his face away for a moment as something almost visceral rips through him.

"Clint?"

He can feel Phil, his hand on the back of Clint's head, his other hand on Clint's shoulder sliding down to make sure his bandaged arm hasn't suddenly developed into a more serious wound.

"Are you okay? Clint?"

Clint nods tightly. He pushes up on his arms, rising to meet Phil with a kiss. "Sorry," he says, but Phil shakes his head in refusal to accept any apology. "God, you were _dead_ , Phil. I..." He kisses him again, and wraps one arm around him, holding him close.

Phil nuzzles into his neck and just holds him. "I know," he says after a few minutes. "I... know." He inhales. "Clint." His lips brush Clint's neck and Phil laughs brokenly deep in his chest. "Shit, Clint, you taste like fucking _coffee_ , I..." And he can't say anything else because Clint's mouth is on his.

Clint's cupping the back of Phil's head, holding him in the kiss. "Yeah," he says softly when their lips part, because he knows. Like the way Clint can't get enough of Phil's scent, Phil loves the small, tangible things that are ephemeral- the things that prove he's alive. Clint moves his hips. His momentary freak-out has definitely lost him some momentum. "Let me try again."

Phil looks at him. "You don't have to."

Clint nods.

Phil nods. "Okay."

And Clint pulls Phil's undershirt up over his head and then sets to kissing a line down his chest, his abdomen, and back to his groin. It's not a straight line- he has to nose his way delightfully through chest hair, and then dart back up to lave his tongue over the nipple his first pass missed. Phil throws his head back, arching into Clint’s touch and humming appreciatively in response.

But when Clint's back to the main event he finds he's much more focused. Phil is real, and he's alive, and that fills Clint with the desire to prove it by taking Phil inside of himself. And so he sets to sucking cock, Phil by this point fully invested in this endeavor, the thickness of him filling Clint's throat.

God, he tastes so _good_ \- he _feels_ so good sliding between Clint's lips, spit-slicked skin over hard flesh. The _sounds_ he's making above Clint are like the perfect chaser, and just the masculine scent of him is driving Clint to the highest peak.

It feels too soon before Clint feels Phil's hand tighten in his hair, pulling his attention away from the delicious heat in his mouth, and Clint groans in protest as Phil pulls him up and then pushes Clint down on the best beside him to kiss him.

Phil chuckles. "Did you change your mind? Want to finish me?"

Clint wriggles under him and changes it back. "No, I want you to fuck me, god, Phil, _please_."

Phil kisses him and says, "Alright," like it's a huge concession, something he's only doing to make Clint stop whining, but he's grinning. He kisses Clint again, and Clint can feel Phil lifting Clint's leg over his hip to reach for Clint's cock and give it a few good pulls with his slicked hand. Clint thrusts into the touch and moans when Phil quickly moves on. He traces one finger around Clint's rim, and Clint shudders and moans again.

Phil chuckles, kissing Clint's neck. "Clint," he says, his voice soft with wonder, like he'd been pretty certain at some point in the recent past that there was never going to come a time again when he'd be like this, with his slick finger sliding into Clint's ass.

Clint turns to meet Phil's lips, sharing a kiss before Phil slides in the second finger and Clint lets his head fall back, panting slightly. God, he's tight.

"You haven't-" Phil says.

Clint shakes his head. "No one, since you."

Phil stills. "You know... if I... If it did... you shouldn't..."

Clint growls. "I do _not_ want to talk about that when you're supposed to be _fucking_ me."

Phil shakes his head mutely, and moves his fingers, stretching Clint out. After a moment he says, "We could skip the condom."

Clint looks at Phil, startled.

Phil looks down at the work his fingers are doing, embarrassed. "You haven't been with anyone else, and I haven't either. There's no reason..."

Clint stops him. "Why are you saying this?"

Phil looks stubborn. "I trust you," he says simply.

"And I trust you," Clint returns. "But that doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I _know_ you don't want to do this." He feels Phil tense in preparation to deny the charge. "Phil." Clint reaches for him and caresses his cheek. "I don't mean being here with me. I just mean I know you prefer condoms. It's fine. Don't try to make this into a gesture it doesn't have to be." Clint kisses him. "It's okay. It doesn’t have to mean that we're not…" he reaches for the words. "It doesn't mean we don't trust each other, or that we're messing around on the side. It just means you like it that way."

Phil inhales deeply. He looks at Clint for a long moment, then nods. His fingers go back to scissoring Clint's ass open, and Clint falls back against the bed with an oath as they press in deeper and hit his prostate. He moans, pulling Phil's face to his to kiss him again.

Clint rolls the condom on Phil himself, and he bites his lips in delicious anticipation as Phil hooks Clint's knees over his shoulders. Phil slides in, one long, perfect endless thrust, and Clint is swearing at the beauty of it, his hands desperate and useless in the bedsheets.

Once he's seated, Phil lets Clint's legs fall around his waist, and he leans in to press his lips to Clint's, until Clint shimmies his hips and, with a soft laugh that dissolves into a growl, Phil starts moving.

Clint lies back, eyes closed. " _Fuck_ , Phil," he murmurs, half a moan, and he thinks that covers everything that he wants to say right now. His ankles cross at the small of Phil's back and tighten, holding Phil close to him. He hears Phil chuckle softly, and he feels Phil's lips brush his before settling more firmly near his hairline and then moving down, Phil nibbling on Clint's ear as he moves in slow, measured thrusts against him.

Phil's taking his time and Clint loves it and it's also making him crazy, and he writhes under Phil, looking up at Phil framed by the sunlight pouring in the window. "God, you're beautiful," Clint murmurs. "Best damn supervisor I ever had."

Phil chuckles. "Is that so?"

He shifts, and Clint's back arches, his mind only consciously saying, " _God_ , Phil, _yes_ , _there_ ," after the fact.

Phil's face is so soft and warm that Clint's pretty sure half of SHIELD wouldn't recognize him at the moment. He picks up the pace, driving against Clint's prostate as Clint gives a series of stuttered keening sounds.

"God, Phil, more," he begs.

But Phil pauses. "I just had a thought," he murmurs against Clint's ear, drawing the lobe between his teeth again for a moment while Clint pants and moans like a gutted animal. "I was thinking maybe you should do more of the work here, Agent Barton." He looks to his left to gauge their space, and Clint has just enough warning that he rolls into the movement with Phil as Phil rolls them over, with Clint ending up on top.

Clint sinks down until Phil is buried balls deep in him and he hears Phil's breath catch on the inhale even as it comes back out as a moan. "Damn, Clint."

"If I recall correctly," Clint says, shifting his hips in a way that makes Phil groan again as he reaches to check the condom, "I wanted you to fuck me. Pretty sure that involves _you_ doing the work."

"We can start over," Phil suggests in amusement. But he stops suddenly, looking up at Clint, and Clint realizes that with their positions reversed the sunlight is falling full on his back. It feels warm. "Never mind," Phil says, breathless. Something old in Clint tenses in anticipation of pain; but Phil is _Phil_ , and Clint _knows_ that, so it’s only an old shadow. Phil says, "I have you right where I want you." His hand slides over Clint's hip and up his side before flattening over Clint's pecs and following the dip between up to his throat. He's looking at Clint like the sunlight gilding him in warmth has actually turned him to gold, or something equally valuable, and Clint has to duck his head for a moment, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Phil's hand pauses, resting at Clint's collar bone. "Clint?" he asks. There is so much in that single syllable, so much of their history and so much of what Phil sees in their future.

Clint's eyes meet Phil's. "It's... I _know_. I just... it takes some getting used to."

Phil smiles softly. "I do, though."

Clint nods. "Me, too." He swallows, then leans down, leaning over Phil lying back on the bed.

Phil's smile is like the feeling of the sunlight on his skin and Clint kisses him, too full to want anything but more of Phil. He shifts his hips, and Phil moans into the kiss.

It's like awakening something, and Clint leans back into it, and he sets to fucking himself on Phil's cock with a single-minded drive. He's got a goal in his sights and it's the look of sated contentment on Phil's face after he's fucked Clint senseless. Clint leans back a little, letting the sunlight fall more heavily around him and upon him. He knows their window's not getting direct angles, because Phil looks up at him without needing to squint against the light, but Phil wants to see him gilded and that's what Phil's going to get.

Phil's expression is going all soft around the edges, his mouth opening without actual words coming out, and Clint knows he's close. He brings one hand to his own cock and fists it, trying to judge how close he is himself. Phil's hand slides from Clint's thigh to cup his balls, his long fingers feeling rough and perfect against that sensitive skin, before sliding back further to touch the edge of the condom and trace a finger along the edge where his cock is sliding into Clint. Clint mutters a helpless, " _Fuck_ ," and knows that whatever the answer to _how close are you_ was, the answer now is _a fucking hell of a lot closer_. He's moving against Phil almost desperately, his hands braced on Phil's shoulders and Phil's hands steady and certain on Clint's cock. "Fuck," Clint moans again, and he's fucking into Phil's hand and back onto Phil's cock as Phil's hips rise to meet his, and he can smell Phil and taste Phil, and Phil is everything.

It's not long after this that Clint comes in stuttering spurts on Phil's chest, and Clint moans again in wretched, shivery joy, because he wants to rub his stubbled face in Phil's hairy chest and smell himself all over Phil.

Phil yanks Clint's face to his and kisses him a little desperately, his hips moving against Clint, and Clint shivers. One of his favorite things about Phil's preference for- and occasional obsession with- condoms is the way they draw out his climax. "Phil," Clint murmurs, "Phil, fuck me, please." He shoves back against Phil, even as his back arches in an attempt to escape additional stimulation to his oversensitive prostate.

It’s only a few moments later when Phil murmurs, "'M so close," against Clint's cheek. He grabs Clint's hips and pounds up into him, Clint shouting in broken pleasure, and comes with a high sound that could be Clint’s name, slightly mangled.

Clint touches Phil's face and Phil's distant, glazed eyes focus on Clint. Phil grins, a wide happy expression. He lifts a hand to run his fingers down Clint's cheek. "I love you," he says, because he's not the one who's ever had a problem copping to the truth.

Clint kisses him. It turns into another kiss, then another, but there's a point where Phil just says, "Alright," and Clint grins, because they have to untangle themselves before they start sticking together. He slides off of Phil, moaning happily as the sudden empty soreness of his sphincter reminds him that he was so recently full.

Phil is smiling at him as he moves to the edge of the bed to dispose of the condom in the bin. He doesn’t look excited to be standing up yet, and he's looking at the mess on his chest with a mock stern side-eye for Clint.

Clint crawls across the bed to him and nuzzles his face into Phil's hairy chest. Phil laughs in surprise, batting at the back of Clint's head ineffectually as Clint rubs his bristly stubble against Phil's stomach.

"Alright, stop," Phil gasps, the laughter stealing his breath.

Clint grins up at him. "Shower," he suggests, already swinging his feet under him to stand.

Phil leans against him, his head tucked into the curve of Clint's neck for a moment. "Okay," he says, voice light and happy.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint knows that Phil prefers the lack of mess, but condoms had been more necessary when they first got together, when it was just sex and they were trying to fool themselves that it didn't mean anything. Clint had still been sleeping with other people, and even though it wasn't something they'd talked about he was pretty sure Phil was, too.

It had been after New Mexico and the initial Thor incident when Clint had decided that it was time to stop fighting this. He cared about Phil way more than he'd ever cared about anyone else he'd slept with- for several reasons, Natasha didn't count- and despite the SHIELD regulations that Clint had always been about flouting, it was starting to affect his performance in the field and he was maybe seeing a reason for those regulations. He's entered Phil's office ready to tell it like it was. But then he'd laid eyes on Phil, looking nervous and uncertain, and Clint had realized that he didn't care about SHIELD, about anything- he wanted to be by Phil's side. He wanted to help Phil. That was going to be okay, Clint had reasoned, because _Phil_ cared about SHIELD, and they were going to be able to get through this. Clint didn't have to say anything. He just needed to stay here with Phil.

"It really changes your perspective," Phil had said. "Aliens. _Gods_."

"I don't think-" Clint had started skeptically, because powerful aliens and _gods_ weren't _really_ the same thing and Clint didn't think there had been enough going on to justify that leap, whatever the guy called himself.

But Phil had cut him off. "Let me say this, okay, Agent Barton? And then you can... you can transfer or do whatever you need to."

Clint had drawn himself up and focused on Phil's words, because _what the fuck why am I supposed to_ transfer _what the hell is he thinking_.

"This... thing, that's been going on between us," Phil had said, his eyes focused on some point behind Clint's left shoulder, "I know we've been very casual about it, and that's been at both our requests. I... I wanted to let you know that I don't... I can't be casual anymore."

Clint had felt like a hole had opened up beneath him, his balance gone and him unable to keep himself from falling into it. _He's noticed that it's affecting my performance_ , he'd thought. _It doesn't change anything. If he doesn't want to fuck anymore, I still want to be near him_. And that thought had been so utterly life ruining that Clint had almost missed what Phil said next.

"In the interest of making sure that we're both aware of the other's expectations for this... involvement, I feel I should let you know that going forward I'm going to have to require that we... be more than casual. At this point I would like us to be exclusive." His chin had come up, but his gaze never wavered from that point on the wall behind Clint's shoulder. "If that doesn't match your... expectations, I'm sorry, Agent Barton, and should you feel uncomfortable working under me going forward I will of course arrange for a transfer at no fault for you."

Clint had blinked. "Sir, did you just say you want us to be exclusive?"

Phil had finally torn his eyes from the spot on the far wall and looked at Clint. "The universe is getting bigger. I... I want to hold on to you, however big it gets."

"Yes, sir," Clint had said, too dazed to really think about it.

Phil had inhaled and straightened his coat with a rough jerk. "Of course. I'll arrange the paperwork."

"No, sir." Clint had stepped forward, crowding Phil against the desk at his back, his arms bracketing Phil in. "I meant _yes, sir._ "

Phil had looked at him, hope and pleasure painting his face with softer edges, and smiled. "Oh?"

Clint grinned. "In fact, sir, I was about to tell you when I came in here- except you wouldn't let me talk first, _sir_ \- that I want to stop pretending that I don't care when you're one of the only people I _do_ care about."

Phil had seemed taken aback. His hand came up, brushing his thumb over Clint's lips. "Oh?" he'd breathed.

Clint had turned to press his face into Phil's palm. "Yeah," he said back.

Phil cleared his throat. "I'm going to have to tell the Director," he cautioned Clint. "He'll probably move you out from my direct supervision for several months."

Clint had nodded. "I know. It'll be a test. I don't care." And he didn't have a lot of supervisors that he liked working with, but he'd be okay putting up with it for a while, knowing that Phil _wanted_ him to come back to him.

Phil had kissed him then. It had been deep and promising, and, in a way, completely new. They were starting something new, something Clint had never tried before.

When they finally broke to breathe, Clint had decided that he could get to like this.

 

* * *

 

 

The shower is one of those amazing Stark investments that make living in the Tower worth it, despite being stuck in proximity to people who tend to annoy him. The water falls in an even, pounding rhythm, and Clint leads Phil under the spray. They’re maybe doing more kissing than washing, but Clint does rub plenty of soap into Phil’s skin, so he figures it’s not a complete waste, as far as showers go. Clint gets his shave, with an approving kiss from Phil that makes Clint roll his eyes.

They finally make it back to the kitchen, but pickings are pretty slim. Clint's only really been living here again for a few days. Phil's been spending most of his time on the medical level with Keller doing tests, and then in the conference room sending test results to FitzSimmons. Clint hadn't gotten around to stocking his fridge when he was spending most of _his_ time on the medical level hovering over Phil.

"Agent Barton," JARVIS says politely as Clint stands staring into his fridge, trying to remember where that bottle of Worcestershire sauce came from, "I would like to remind you that there are several establishments in the building that serve ready meals. And I would be delighted to add your suite to the grocery delivery schedule."

Clint grunts. Going out means clothing. "Don't suppose we can get _breakfast_ delivered?"

"Of course, Agent Barton. What would you like to order?"

Clint grins at Phil.

In the end Phil makes him order _real food_ for breakfast, but Clint makes sure JARVIS adds whipped cream to the shopping list. Phil might be anti-mess but Clint can only let him get away with so much.

 

After breakfast they go back to the bed and Clint curls up with his head on Phil's thigh while Phil reads mission reports from his team. Phil's hand occasionally ghosts through Clint's hair. Clint doesn't really sleep, but he rests more easily than he has in a while.

"Would you like me to share this data with anyone?" JARVIS asks suddenly. He's keeping his voice low, but it wakes Clint up entirely. Why would Phil be sharing mission reports with anyone? Hand should already have access to them, and no one else needs to.

"Let me think about it, JARVIS," is Phil's response. Phil notices that Clint's awake and his hand brushes through Clint's hair again.

Clint doesn't want to ask, really, but he can't stop himself. "Whatcha reading?"

"Trajectory data and star charts that Delta-Foster helped me obtain from the Kree warship in Beta-universe."

Clint blinks. That... was not what he was expecting.

Phil's hand stills in Clint's hair. He takes a deep breath. "I think the Kree... are TAHITI."

Clint sits up so that he can look at Phil. "And you know this from the trajectory data."

"And also the footage of the confrontation the Avengers of that reality had with the Kree representative in front of the United Nations."

Clint's still taking it in, but apparently his silence unnerves Phil, because Phil reaches out to touch him worriedly. "Clint? Say something."

Clint lets his eyes meet Phil's. "What are you thinking? You're gonna go to space to find them?"

"No," Phil denies. "Just planning to keep a weather eye in that direction of space, in case they're coming back anytime soon."

Clint nods. "What are you worried about?" he asks Phil.

Phil's gaze is heavy on him. "I..."

Clint narrows his eyes and intuits, "You still think you're going to go crazy?"

Phil doesn't answer him, which is answer enough.

"Phil." Clint leans against him. "I've got you." Phil nods, but he's obviously not convinced. Clint sighs, and leans back. "JARVIS, would you inform Agent Coulson about Protocol One Seven?"

"Protocol One Seven was designed by Agent Barton and enacted under my highest protocol settings with the authorization of Doctor Banner. Protocol One Seven states that if Agent Phil Coulson, Agent Skye, or any other identified recipient of the GH-325 treatment begins to act in an unusual or abnormal manner, the protocol enactor will be notified. If they begin to act in a manner that is considered dangerous or potentially harmful to themselves or others, the current roster of Avengers members will be notified and advised to prohibit such behavior. If no Avengers are present, I will take steps to proscribe the behavior until a time such that the Avengers or the protocol enactor can be reached."

Phil is staring straight ahead in shock. He shifts his gaze to Clint. "You..."

Clint rests his hand on Phil's thigh. "I’ve _got_ you, Phil."

Phil reaches over and grabs Clint roughly, yanking him into a deep, biting kiss.

"Clint," he moans when their lips break. He's shivering.

Clint wraps his arms around Phil. "I've got you," he says again, soft and reassuring.

Phil smiles. There's a suspicious wetness in the corner of his eyes, but Clint's not looking too closely. "I know," he says, voice soft. He lays his head against Clint's shoulder. "I know," he repeats.

Clint trails soft kisses along the curve of Phil's neck, until Phil rouses himself to meet Clint's lips with his own.

"I want you to fuck me."

Clint pulls back to look at him. "Yeah?"

Phil nods.

"Okay." Clint kisses him again, giving Phil plenty of time to think about this. They've done it before, but bottoming for Phil isn't about pleasure as much as it is about needing to prove something. If this is the same thing he's trying to prove by suggesting that coming back from the dead suddenly means they're okay to not use condoms, then Clint isn't sure he wants any part of it. "You know, this isn't just about me," he says a few minutes later. He has his hands in Phil's hair, one thumb stroking over Phil's temple as he looks into his eyes.

"What?" Phil seems a little dazed.

"We're doing this together. You don't have to do anything just because you think that's what _I_ want."

Phil blinks, already looking more coherent. "I don't-" He cuts himself off abruptly, which is great because Clint is not in the mood to call him out for being a liar. "I did offer to try barebacking earlier because I thought you would enjoy it better," he admits.

Clint kisses him, and, because honesty should be rewarded, he whispers in Phil's ear, "You know, I love the way the condom makes you outlast me almost every time."

Phil shudders and he moves against Clint desperately as he moans. He swallows. "This isn't the same." He leans back and searches Clint's face. "I want to feel you." His hands are on Clint's face, his chest, his abdomen. "Everywhere. Inside."

Clint nods. "Okay." He kisses Phil again. "Put your tablet on the table and I'll grab the lube."

Realizing that they never returned the bottle of lube to the bedside table after their previous play, Clint searches for it in the covers of the, frankly, enormous bed. There are some things that make Stark _less_ annoying and even somewhat tolerable.

When he makes his way back to Phil, Phil has set aside his work and is pulling off his clothes. He lays on the bed, reaching for Clint.

Clint lays himself down facing Phil, and he pulls Phil's leg over his, fondling his balls gently before tracing a finger back to Phil's hole, pressing gently against the pucker but mostly just circling it.

Phil shivers in anticipation, his leg hooked over Clint's hip pulling him closer.

Clint adds lube generously to his fingers and presses the first one in. Phil hums into Clint's neck. Clint kisses Phil's shoulder; by chance, it's the one with the scar, and he tries not to make Phil self-conscious by letting on that he wants to make it a totem, something that reminds him always that Phil _isn't_ dead.

Phil stiffens against him and Clint eases off on the third finger he'd just slipped in, pulling them back to add a bit more lube. He kisses Phil's ear, and down the curve of his jaw. Phil looks up at him, his keen eyes seeing everything- every imperfection, everything Clint did wrong that Phil was there to see, and every time Clint wasn't good enough to get it right in their relationship- and wanting Clint anyway.

Clint kisses him, coaxing Phil to keep deepening the kiss until Clint slips that third finger in unnoticed and finds the spot he's looking for. Phil arches against him in a perfect bow, gasping, his hands reaching for Clint, finding his shoulder and pulling him closer. " _Ahh_ , Clint," he murmurs, his breath hot on Clint's face. "Deeper."

Clint kisses him. "Got it, boss." He kisses Phil again, scissoring his fingers a couple more times before he pulls them out. He smacks Phil lightly on the ass and nips at his lips. "Turn over, on your stomach."

Phil shivers, and nods eagerly. He rolls onto his front, his elbows under him to prop him up as he watches Clint.

Clint goes back to the drawer for a condom and searches briefly through the oversized pile of discarded pillows that came with the room before he finds one he likes. Phil raises an eyebrow at him, but Clint just says, "You want to feel me, I want to touch you as deeply as possible."

Phil flushes but nods, his eyes sharp and dark with arousal and his breath coming faster.

Clint comes to him, draping himself over Phil's back for a moment to steal a kiss. When he's satisfied, he pushes Phil down, to lie flat on the bed. He touches Phil's hips and Phil raises them so that Clint can fit the slender pillow underneath him, taking care to make sure that it lies against Phil's upper thighs and that Phil's cock and balls aren't twisted under him. Phil moans as Clint strokes his cock and takes a moment to play with Phil's balls; once he'd done this all night until Phil came just from the stimulation of Clint breathing on his cock, and he can tell from the way Phil moans that he's remembering the same night. It's tempting, but Phil asked him for something and Clint intends to deliver.

Phil shivers in anticipation when Clint tears the condom open, and Clint takes longer than he usually does to roll it on and dab on some extra lube, just to draw out that anticipation. When he presses the head of his cock to Phil's slick entrance, Phil's moan is so sharp Clint thinks it might be able to draw blood.

Clint slides his way in, slowly, giving Phil a chance to relax around him. He plants a hand on either side of Phil's torso and presses a kiss to the center of his back. "God, Phil. You're amazing. Shit. So tight."

Phil moans. " _Clint_."

Clint grins. He slides all the way in, Phil's hands clutching in the sheets, his back coming up slightly at the sensation of the intrusion. Clint slides out, and experiments with a few short thrusts.

Phil moans, and his legs spread in invitation. Clint takes it. He fucks into Phil deeply, and fast. Phil's moan reaches a higher, more desperate pitch, and Clint kisses the back of his neck. "I've got you," he murmurs.

" _Fuck_ , _Clint_ ," Phil grits out. "Clint. _More_. Please, Clint."

Clint presses another kiss to the back of Phil's neck. "Yes, sir."

He continues in this vein for bit, before easing off. Phil cries out as he slows, but Clint shifts his weight to one hand, his slower thrusts more controlled and pressing just as deeply, and his free hand reaching for Phil's cock to wrap fingers around it.

Phil tries to thrust into Clint's hand, but he can't get a good angle and he moans in frustration. Clint kisses the curve of his shoulder. "I've got you," he murmurs, his fingers deft on Phil's cock.

And what he's waiting for happens- the slump of tension releasing in Phil's back as he cedes control of the moment to Clint. It's such a beautiful thing that Clint wishes they were facing each other so he could kiss Phil. He does press his lips to Phil's skin; it's not the same but it's enough. His fingers press against the underside of Phil's cockhead, jerking Phil smoothly even as he fucks deeply into him a couple more times. Phil's moan crescendos and he comes, spurting into Clint's hand.

The rareness of being the one buried in Phil has Clint coming in the same moment, his forehead pressed to Phil's back with a groan of ecstasy.

"Shit. Clint," Phil says, his voice soft and wondering, light with afterglow.

Clint pulls himself together enough to kiss Phil, pulls out and tosses the condom, and then pulls both of them under the covers to curl up together.

Phil's arms are warm around Clint, and his breath is reassuring as he lays his head on Clint's shoulder. Phil is smiling and the room is warm with afternoon light. Clint thinks his heart might burst.

Clint wets his lips. "Phil, I l-" but he can't say it.

Phil grins, his face soft with the mirror of the affection that Clint can't confess. "I know," he says simply. "You've got me." He kisses Clint.

Clint leans into the press of lips, and when they're done his heart feels slightly less like it might burst open. "Yeah," he says. "I do."

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack listing: "Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)" is written by Elton John and Bernie Taupin.  
> Note: I kind of felt bad because these guys didn’t get anything explicit in the lead up to OOOT, so here they are in the afterward. I did add in the flashback scene so that the story would hopefully stand on its own a bit better. Because apparently I can't really write PWP without throwing in plot or emotional baggage, or both.


End file.
